A Union
by TheWhisperedLie
Summary: A collection of oneshots detailing the lives of Erik and Christine as husband and wife. Erik learns what it means to love wholly and live for someone else as he shares his life with Christine and works to build a normal life with her. He must make peace with his inner demons as he strives to maintain their union, and will come to discover that his past does not decide his future.
1. Chapter 1

Erik distractedly flipped a page of the book he held aloft in his hand, blinking several times to refocus and grant some measure of attention to the words on the pages. In an attempt to develop a measure of normalcy in his life, he had adopted the practice of drawing his evenings to a close by reading before the fire. It became a part of his daily routine without the merest _suggestion_ of difficulty. At eleven o'clock, he would select a volume from his extensive collection and assume his place in the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace, read for approximately an hour, and then retire. In this way, he was able to give rest to his constantly overactive mind, and provide Christine with a means of knowing that the hour was late.

Though she had never given voice to her thoughts, Erik knew that his wife was unaccustomed to a life without the sun to indicate the time of day, so practices such as these were his way of communicating the same information. Indeed, he gathered that Christine appreciated his efforts, as she had her own night- time rituals to attend to, and she took his movement toward the book-case as a prompt to begin them. Erik, of course, needed no more than a few moments to prepare for bed, and he could scarcely fathom how or why she made an ordeal of it. Regardless, she did, and he was more than content to allow her the time.

Erik soon discovered, though, that the time he granted her during his reading was quite a bit more than what she required to ready herself for bed. Yes, she was often completely ready to go to bed well before he was ready to put down whatever it was he happened to be reading. _Sleep, _though, was not always at the forefront of her mind. Suffice to say that once he came to this knowledge, neither was _reading_ at the forefront of _his_ mind. In fact, more often than not, his books ended up carelessly discarded on the rug, having been abandoned in favor of alternative activities, and he would replace them without a trace of regret or apology upon rising the next morning.

On this night, however, Christine had not emerged from their bedchamber in alluring clothing or a sway in her walk or mischievous glint in her eye. No, she entered Erik's presence in a modest dressing gown, a distant air about her as she made her appearance. Never escaping the watchful eye of her husband, she curled up on an end of the settee, her chin resting in her palm as she gazed into the quietly crackling fire.

Momentarily abandoning his reading, Erik lowered his book to regard his wife uninhibited. He marveled at her delicate frame, tucked so securely against the arm of their sofa. He silently pondered the downward tilt of her lips as she frowned so minutely that it might have gone undetected by someone less observant. He traced the line of her jaw down to the column of her neck where he detected the faint signs of a pulse beating just beneath the soft skin.

Erik felt his own pulse accelerate slightly as he drank in her image. He could not stifle the primal sensations that welled up from deep within his being each time he took the time to truly _see_ his spouse. Moreover, though, it was times like these that a deep, warm satisfaction would envelope him much like a thick blanket, for it was times like these that reminded him of one solid, unchanging fact- Christine was _his_.

Perhaps the possessiveness Erik felt over Christine may have been a bit much, but he hardly cared to think of it that way- it was simply factual. He owned every aspect of Christine- her beauty, her voice, her innocence and so much more- for each of those aspects had been given to him _by her_ to worship, cherish or scorn at his leisure. She too, though, owned him and all that he was- and it was only through her completion of him that he was finally made right. It hardly mattered what the world thought of him when Christine would look upon him without the slightest trace of fear, disgust or even pity. No, when she looked upon him, she clearly communicated her possession of him- he was inarguably hers, and it struck him to the core. They belonged to one another, and it was never disputed.

Erik's eyes raked over Christine's small form appreciatively, but his attraction for her was weighed out by his concern for her wellbeing. She seemed distant, the glazed surface of her eyes doing little more than reflecting the fire's flames as they licked about one another- certainly not allowing him any insight to her turmoil.

Usually at this point, his mind would begin to wander as he tried to guess at what worry was plaguing her mind. He quickly discovered though, that this attempt at solving the problem did little more than make it worse. His mind would leap to the worst conclusions possible, and he often made the mistake of assuming that she was unhappy with him, their relationship, or something of the like. He would then, of course, be caught in an emotional state of his own, and what had once been a slight disturbance in an otherwise peaceful evening turned into a full blown conflict.

Being distraught, Erik would hurl accusations at her, which would at first confuse her, then only upset her more as she desperately denied his claims and tried to defend herself. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, though, for at the time he was of a less sound mind and too caught up in his own self- doubt for even Christine to assuage him. Then, naturally, when her assurances failed to calm him, her own ire was roused and she would take her turn at listing grievances- the predominant of them being that he did not listen to the words coming out of her mouth.

Not eager to incite another argument, Erik did not allow himself to assume what she was thinking of. Closing the book he had long since lost interest in, he rose from his chair and crossed the room to put it back in its place. From the corner of his eye, he saw Christine start slightly at his movement, and felt her gaze upon him. Sure enough, as soon as he turned from the bookcase, he was met with the light emanating from her crystalline blue eyes. A smile further warped the features of his unmasked face as he looked back at her, unable to think of a more suitable course of action. He was rewarded with a soft smile of her own, and the release of some tension about her neck and shoulders. Deep inside, he was pleased to know that he could relax her with something as simple as a smile- but he would not be satisfied until he knew the source of her displeasure.

With a few long strides, Erik had once more returned to the other side of the room, and rather than his chair, chose to sit on the side of the sofa opposite Christine. For a while the crackling of the fire filled the room as its light cast dancing shadows about the room. Christine's eyes had not left his, and she sat silently observing him, as he returned his observation of her. They did not move or speak for what seemed both an instant and an eternity, until Erik extended his arm toward his wife, silently beckoning her to come into his embrace and allow him to comfort her.

Much to Erik's pleasure, Christine obliged him and in less than a moment she was wrapped securely against his chest. Her arms weaved about his waist and he shifted to accommodate her. He buried his face in her silken hair and inhaled its perfume. His long fingers traced patterns on her back, and he felt the air fill and leave her lungs as she heaved a sigh. Erik frowned, shifted yet again so he could look his beloved in the eye. He cupped her cheek in his palm, the tips of his fingers encroaching upon her hairline.

Unable to resist, he maintained eye contact with her as he bent his head and lighted a gentle kiss upon her lips. He continued further, planting adoring kisses on her brow, her cheeks her eyelids and a final one on the tip of her nose before finally pulling back to look at her, happy to see a broad smile plastered across her face. Chuckling, he scooped her up so he could stretch his legs out along the sofa, then replaced her atop his lap, whereupon she situated herself so the she was resting her back upon his chest. Erik's hand settled on her stomach, and her hands intertwined with his, and for a while they remained that way, neither saying a word nor making a move to shatter the moment.

"I love you," Christine murmured, breaking the silence as she turned her head to place a kiss on his neck.

"And I love you," he promptly responded, feeling his heart beat a bit deeper in his chest at her words.

Christine said nothing, but squeezed his hands tighter in hers, and he saw her throat bob as she swallowed, tension creeping back into her body.

"Christine?" Erik's voice was laced with concern, and he tilted his head to better look at her.

Christine looked back up at him and opened her mouth as if to speak, but then shut it, apparently unable to find the words she wished to communicate. Her eyes looked pleadingly up at him, as if willing him to understand what she needed to say, but obviously could not. Erik was quite simply at a loss, so he proceeded to try and communicate through touch where they obviously could not communicate through words. He bent his head and closed his lips over Christine's kissing her slowly and deeply, closing his eyes as sensation flooded him.

Christine kissed him back, matching his slow pace at first, but then becoming more forceful as she deepened the kiss, pushing for a faster speed. Mentally shrugging off his brief surprise, he welcomed her desire for more and met her fervor as it increased ever more. She broke the kiss momentarily, turning herself over so that she was straddling his hips, and then resumed their previous endeavors, kissing him hard on the mouth.

Erik could not restrain the deep growl that escaped his throat as he fairly consumed her with his kiss. He made a concentrated effort to remove his hands from where they had fisted in her hair, for fear he should pull the better part of it out. His fingertips dragged down her back as he brought his hands to her hips, which he held in a harsh grip. She responded with a soft mewl and ground her hips against his growing arousal, effectively sending him into a frenzy. Disengaging from his mouth, she drew a ragged gasp from his throat as she lavished his neck with open- mouthed kisses and lapped at the hollow of his throat.

At last unable to resist her, Erik took Christine up in his arms and hastened to their bedroom, where they were content to proceed. Awash in sensation, they took from one another and then gave back; delighting in the intimacy they shared through their lovemaking. When at last they had both found their release, they each took a moment to collect themselves, panting as the world settled back into its proper place around them.

Warm from exertion and the glowing satisfaction that welled up from inside, Erik allowed a contented sigh to escape his lips. Christine snuggled closer to his side and rested her head on his chest, draping a leg over both of his. A smile curled his lips as he placed a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Erik?" her sweet voice reached his ears and her breath tickled over his skin.

"Hm?" he responded, lifting a hand to stroke her soft curls. A moment passed before she spoke again.

"I have something to tell you," she started shakily. "I'd rather you didn't say anything on the matter, though, until tomorrow, so you have a chance to put your thoughts in order."

Erik frowned slightly, a hint of anxiety welling up in his stomach at the hesitance in her words. He wondered what would be so hard for her to tell him, and that he would need to think about until the morning. He tried to remain calm, knowing that it would be unreasonable to jump to terrible conclusions.

"Alright," he consented, eager for her to come out with whatever it was she had to say. "Not a word from me, I promise you."

"Thank you," she sighed her relief, and kissed his collarbone, another moment passing before she spoke again. "Erik… my menses has been overdue for several weeks now. I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby."

Erik's muscles tensed immediately and his pulse pounded in his ears. He could barely hear Christine's murmured assurances and words of love through the thoughts that had begun to flood his mind. He felt Christine's lips on his skin as she peppered kisses over his chest, and for the first time he thought of pushing her away. He struggled to breathe as he was overwhelmed with feelings of love for Christine and the hint of desire she inspired with her light kisses, as well as a dread that filled him at the thought of having spawned a child and the terror of having to be a father when he had no idea how to do so.

All these thoughts and emotions mingled within him, and confused him to the point that he felt he might implode. Though Erik tried to maintain his composure, he could hardly help the tremors that began to rack his body, or the rate at which he began to breathe to support the frantic pace of his heart as his body reacted to the news that he had promised not to speak a word of until morning. His heavy breathing turned to gasps for air as tears filled his eyes and he was lost to harsh sobs. Feeling helpless and lost, he turned onto his side and reached out to Christine, desperate for an anchor. He held her tight to his chest and rocked her back and forth- more as a consolation to himself as his tears flowed into her hair, trying to muffle the choked noises coming from his throat by burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Erik began to calm down, though, as Christine soothed him with soft whispers and long strokes of her hand over his back. Eventually, under her gentle ministrations, his breathing returned to normal, and the well of his tears ran dry. When she started softly singing in his ear, he lost his hold on the world altogether, and her song led him into unconsciousness, where he would dwell until he woke to a new day.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik leaned against the door frame of the kitchen as the clanking of glass and metal, as well as the slosh of soapy water met his ears. His arms crossed over his chest, Erik observed his wife as she tended to the mundane task of washing up after their meal. Having her do such work had at first been unthinkable to him. He would take care of _everything_ for her, and she would not be required to lift a finger for as long as she resided with him. This course of action, though, seemed to displease her, as she claimed she was left with nothing to do when it came to contributing to their household. Though Erik had been terribly confused, he eventually came to the realization that it must be another of those womanly things that he would never understand.

So, it came to pass that Christine was responsible for washing their dishes, among other things, so that she felt satisfied with her end of maintaining their home. Erik took his share of responsibilities as well, handling the tasks he deemed too strenuous or dangerous for his bride. No, it would not do at all for her to be at risk of injury over a fault in the piping or another mechanical issue of the like.

At present however, no such issue had presented itself, and he simply stood in the doorway, observing Christine as she went about her chore. Even when occupied by such a simple task, she captivated him with her gentle manner and graceful movements. Glancing over her shoulder, she granted him a soft smile, which he all too readily returned. His wife tossed her head as she turned her attention back to her work, banishing the wayward curls that had fallen into her face. Such a simple gesture, yet it might as well have been a gift sent directly from heaven for how much he cherished it- as he did _every_ movement that she made.

Yes, it thrilled Erik's soul that Christine was directly in front of him, just within his reach. Should he take a mind to do so, he could rescue her from the labors of dish-washing and spirit her away to entertain her with music or weave her fantastic tales of worlds that would never exist outside of their imaginations. If he wished, he could extend his hand and stroke her hair, or cup her cheek. If he wished, he could wrap his bony fingers over her shoulders and feel the give of her soft flesh- the resistance of her frail bones, and she would greet his advances with a smile.

Perhaps other men took these sorts of things for granted, but not Erik. No, Erik could recall a time when his beloved Christine recoiled in fear at his touch, and shuddered to be in his presence at all. He could vividly remember the face of the young man who had all too nearly succeeded in robbing him of his muse, his inspiration, his love. Indeed, Erik feared he would never forget these things, even as Christine stood in front of _him,_ wearing _his_ ring, in _their home_.

Perhaps other men forgot to adore their wives quite like he adored Christine. Perhaps they never realized what an incredible treasure the heart of a woman was, but simply interpreted marriage as a right that every man was entitled to. Erik had never _had_ such luxuries or assurances in his life, and for a moment he was thankful for the fact. Certainly, his life had –by and large- been nothing short of a waking nightmare. He had experienced torment, pain, sorrow, hatred and loneliness so potently that in comparison, the love and joy he attained from sharing a life with Christine was all the more wondrous to him. Had he been a _normal_ man, he doubted he would even be _capable_ of knowing such bliss- for sharing his life with Christine _was_ bliss.

Yet, even as overwhelmed with love as Erik was, and even as truly_ happy_ as he was, a sense of dread had begun to creep in upon him, and seemed to overshadow _everything_. When he had at first perceived its presence, he had immediately fought to banish it from his mind. He was determined to maintain his new found contentment, and even more resolved to protect Christine from such an all- encompassing gloom. As time passed, though, his dread seemed to gain strength, and it was of absolutely no help that _physical_ evidence of his plight was mounting with the swelling of his wife's abdomen.

Yes, each time Erik caught a glimpse of Christine's growing midsection, a wave of darkness fairly drowned him. In the beginning, as the baby had been unexpected, he had not known exactly what it was he felt about it. He had tried to be happy, to meet Christine smile for smile as she went on and on about names or furniture or other such nonsense that never actually met his ears. No, while she talked, and while he nodded appropriately in response, Erik's heart was frozen and his mind suspended. He felt struck to the very core by this new presence in his life. Not in the ecstatic, bubbling manner of his wife, but quite the contrary. Indeed, once the initial shock had worn off, he had felt as though he was dangling over a precipice- and it was but a matter of time until he plummeted into an abyss that stretched out below.

Erik had been surprised by his own faith, though, as he harbored absolutely_ no doubt_ that the child his wife carried belonged to him. Earlier in his marriage, he may have doubted her loyalty to him. Indeed, on more than one occasion he had suspected, and eventually _accused_ her of infidelity. That, of course, had led to a confrontation- one in which she emerged victorious, for she had not only passionately denied his claims, but provided evidence to prove her innocence. He, though, was not easily convinced, and the whole ordeal had been a veritable maelstrom of emotion- one that he did not particularly care to repeat. No, he owed her all his trust and he knew that the child she was housing within her womb was a product of their love- yet he took no elation from such knowledge.

No, Erik could scarcely attempt actual happiness- it was all he could do to maintain the illusion of it so that Christine did not suspect him of his trepidation. In reality, and in spite of the fact that he tried to repress such thoughts, he resented the child for the place it was soon to take in their lives. It seemed to Erik that he had only just achieved happiness in his life, and this child posed a serious threat to it. With a child, the precious time that he got to spend alone with his Christine would cease to exist- and Erik was not prepared for such a loss, nor did he feel he would ever be. If it was solely up to him, they would not have any children at all, and simply exist with one another until their dying days. Having seen Christine's excitement for their child, though, Erik knew that she would _not_ be content with such a life. Yes, Christine wanted this child, and likely more, and Erik had not the heart to deny her what she so fervently desired. Still, he wished they had gotten more time simply as a married couple.

And, of course, a constant fear for his child's appearance plagued him. Erik already knew what Christine would have to say on the matter, so he didn't bother bringing his fears to her knowledge. She would remind him that _his_ face didn't bother her, and their child's face would be no different, if it was deformed at all. She would love their child no matter what it looked like, and it would never have to bear its father's life. The child would be wrapped in love from the moment it was born- and even before, as Christine's love for their unborn child was already _quite_ evident._  
_

Erik, however, was not certain he was even _capable_ of the sort of love a child required. It had been miraculous enough that he fell in love with Christine, but a child- a potentially physically marred child? Erik did not think it possible to look on a child that was forced to bear a deformity because of his own genetic faults with any emotion besides guilt and self- loathing. Erik had endured these emotions before, of course, but he was in no hurry to feel such things again, and then try to make room for love on top of them.

Even if Erik _did_ manage to somehow love the child, the world would never accept it if it looked anything like _him_. It would live in a cocoon of wondrous love, and then what? It would eventually wish to be let out into the world, and _then_ what could they do? They could oblige and allow their child to face the world and all therein- _expose_ their child to the world's cruelties, or they could simply refuse and keep it caged all its life. Either way, the child would grow to resent them for their shelter, or for their entrapment. Indeed, if the child was deformed, there was little they could do to prevent bitterness from forming in its heart, either toward them or toward the world. It would be a fruitless venture, and in Erik's opinion, better not to take the chance- though it would seem he was a bit late for that particular option.

What Erik worried the most over, though, was his own lack of experience when it came to being a father. Erik had never known his father, had never had any father figure in his life at all. Erik knew nothing of how to raise a child, and had barely succeeded in keeping _himself _alive throughout all his trials. He had no clue how to cradle an infant, or comfort it when it cried- he _highly_ doubted that his child would be soothed by the image of his face. Erik had no business trying to raise a child, though it was unfair to expect Christine to handle every matter on her own. He felt trapped, and at a complete loss for answers, and he feared that there was no book on the entire planet that could prepare him for the task he was about to undertake.

"Erik?" Christine's voice called him out of his reverie, and he looked up to see her drying her hands with a dish towel. Erik quirked his lips up in a smile he kept on reserve for her, and held out his hand to her. She took it and he brought her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a kiss. After doing so, he did not release her, instead holding her hand to his face as he nuzzled into her palm. The music of her laughter met his ears and he looked up into her eyes, their corners scrunching into tiny lines as she beamed up at him.

Still keeping her hand captive against his cheek, he used his other arm to sharply tug her closer, effectively trapping her against his frame. She laughed yet again, and this time he responded with a chuckle of his own. Pulling away slightly, Christine stood on tiptoe to lightly kiss his lips, and her fingertips lightly petted his skin as she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. Erik could not contain a sigh for how tenderly she touched him.

Christine pressed herself closer against him as she once more rose on her toes and kissed him, this time deeper, and long enough for him to properly kiss her back. Erik freed her hand to capture the nape of her neck instead, lightly massaging the muscles beneath her skin. Christine's arms went about his neck, one hand moving behind his head so she could rake her fingers through his hair. At length breaking apart, they pressed their foreheads together and simply stood in each other's presence, breathing each other's air and feeling each other's forms against their own. Erik could not imagine anything greater.

All things come to an end, though, and this thing ended when Christine moved away from him, taking his hand and leading him to his chair, whereupon he took his usual seat and she curled atop his lap. He glanced at the fire, noting that before long he would have to feed it, lest Christine catch a chill. Still, he had time yet, and he was in no great hurry to get up, as Christine had huddled herself against him, her head resting against his shoulder.

Christine took his hand in her own and pressed kisses to his palm, and he lazily dragged his fingertips along the side of her neck. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head against the back of his chair, content to block out the world of colors and shapes in favor of a world where he could hear the crackle of the fire, know the whisper of his wife's breath over the palm of his hand, and feel the imprint of her body against his own. He felt Christine move his hand to her cheek, and Erik cradled the side of her face in his hand, much like she had cradled his only moments before.

Erik's good mood, however, disappeared when Christine brought his hand from her face to press it firmly against her swollen belly. His eyes snapped open almost involuntarily, and his muscles went from relaxed to painfully tense faster than what he thought was possible. He looked around at everything in the room to distract himself and keep calm, silently willing Christine to release her hold on his hand. He had intentionally avoided making physical contact with that particular part of her form, and doing so now made him terribly uneasy. He made a concentrated effort not to squirm about in his discomfort, or to tear his hand away, though he dearly wished to do so. He hoped that Christine could not detect the fast, almost violent beating of his heart, although he felt sure that she must, as snugly nestled against his chest as she was.

Erik was close to screaming as she began to move his hand in a circular motion over the swell of her abdomen, and he felt sure he was near to having a heart attack. Oblivious to his plight, Christine continued. Erik afforded her a glance, and beheld her angelic features gazing up at him, eager for his response. He managed to form a smile, and hoped it would be convincing enough for her, as his throat had closed up and it was all he could do to breathe, much less form false words of adoration for the child that grew in her womb.

Fortunately, his smile seemed to be just what Christine was hoping for, as her face broke into a beam of delight. She took her eyes from him to look instead at where their hands rested on her stomach. Taking advantage of her shift in attention, Erik turned his own face away, bringing his free hand up behind her back to bite down hard on his knuckle in an effort to maintain his sanity. Tears filled his eyes and it became a chore to regulate his breathing. His pulse pounded in his ears and he blinked rapidly to try and dispel the moisture pooling oh his eyelids.

After a length of time- and at the expense of his hand- Erik was able to calm himself and notice that Christine's hold on his hand had loosened significantly. In fact, the only force holding his hand to her abdomen was gravity, and he gratefully removed it to rest on the arm of his chair. Relieved, Erik tilted his head to look at his wife. Her chest rose and fell evenly with the breaths she took, and her eyes were closed, her head completely resting against his chest- dozing contentedly.

Chuckling to himself, almost forgetting his former discomfort, Erik wrapped an arm behind her back and the other under her knees, easily rising to stand under her slight weight. Careful not to wake her, he carried Christine to their bedroom, where he laid her down upon their bed. The day was young, and he knew she would rise in little more than an hour, if that.

Kneeling down beside the bed, he raised a hand to lightly stroke her hair. He was tempted to place a kiss on her forehead, but he really was loathe to disturb her, as peacefully as she rested.

"I love you," he whispered instead, his voice barely audible.

With that, Erik stood and left her side, returning to the hearth to tend the dying fire and bring order to his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

The house by the lake seemed eerily quiet and vacant. Erik, who had lived there in solitude for more time than he cared to recall, could not think of a time since the completion of its construction that it had been so void of life. Especially since Christine had so completely filled their home with her vibrancy, the stark contrast was slightly unnerving to him. Indeed, without the furniture, the fire, his collection of odds and ends and the ornate rugs, his home looked completely bare. Along with the unspeakable hell Christine had endured in this place, it made him firmer in his resolve to remove his wife from their underground home.

Erik had originally made the decision to relocate his family after coming to the realization that Christine would likely not wish for their child to be raised in the cellars of an opera house, surrounded by life- threatening traps throughout the whole of its existence. And upon further consideration, he found he shared such an opinion. Even Erik's own childhood, however dreadful it had been, had been spent above- ground, in the light. He had even had a pet. No, his underground domicile was ill- suited for raising a child- they would simply _have_ to relocate.

Erik had, naturally, taken some time to decide on this course of action. He was reluctant to leave his long- time home. It had served him well for the entirety of his time there, and it seemed almost like a betrayal to pack up and leave. The more he thought, though, the more certain he became. Christine would never say it directly, but he knew she languished in their subterranean abode. She was a creature of the light, smothered by the darkness, and he hated to see her in such a way- just as he would hate seeing their child in such a way.

So, having learned it was better to make these decisions _with_ his wife rather than _for_ her, he approached Christine with his thoughts and presented his idea. As he had expected, she was more than agreeable, and her only concerns were for him. _He_, of course, found this absurd- she knew very well that if he had any reservations he would not have suggested such a thing in the first place. Even so, he had to admit it warmed his heart to be reminded that she cared for him.

Erik spent countless hours in discussion with Christine over where in the wide world they would settle. They could, of course, opt to stay in France- even remain close to Paris. This notion, though, was not particularly favorable to either of them. Their sheltered home beneath the opera was the only place in France that they had managed to find peace- and only after a certain viscount had sailed to distant lands with the naval forces. No. They both longed for a fresh start without the strain of lingering ghost stories and love affairs.

Looking beyond France, they weeded out undesirable places- for Erik, the easterly portion of the world was out of the question, and Christine made it known that she had no wish to live in Germany, as the language was unappealing to her (a morsel of information that Erik found trivial, but charming nonetheless). Much of what was spoken between them was lighthearted and fanciful, as neither of them was quite ready to get down to the business portion of the ordeal. Even so, Erik paid very close attention to the ideal home Christine described to him. Indeed, his wife -with her simple words and dreamy, faraway eyes- painted a nearly tangible image of a place where they would be able to raise their child and live in peaceful harmony. And Erik, ever the devoted husband, was determined to deliver nothing short of _everything_ her imaginings entailed.

Yes, they decided to start off completely fresh, almost an entirely new life. Erik was nonplussed, but Christine, who had no idea _whatsoever_ of the wealth he had accumulated over the years, had no concept of how simple it was to pick up and begin a new life without much consequence. He, on the other hand, fancied himself a master of such affairs- an extra passenger (or two, as was the case) would only serve as a refreshing challenge. Yes, if Erik had learned one thing in his life, it was that -with few exceptions- _everything_ can be bought, from a ruined reputation to a passage to a new home.

Regardless, Christine worried _incessantly _over finances. She fretted about travelling costs and the cost of moving their furniture and this and that and the next affair to the point that Erik was becoming rather weary of it. Indeed, it seemed to him that she spoke of money as much as she spoke of their child, and it was altogether too much for him to handle with his sanity intact. So, he made things very simple, and announced that they would be selling the vast majority of his possessions to finance their new beginning.

This course of action served a dual purpose, Erik shortly found- for though she did not say it in so many words, she felt badly that it was necessary for such an action to be taken. Upon making his proclamation, Christine's face had gone very suddenly pale, and she had stammered that there was surely some other way to go about getting the money they would require. Erik had _dearly_ wished to explain that they did not need any more money- likely for the rest of their lives- but he refrained from doing so. It was actually more convenient to simply sell his belongings and buy more when they found a new home. Moving all that furniture would be a hassle, and he would more than likely throttle the bumbling fools who were bound to be handling his possessions. Yes, far better to sell them to someone who might appreciate their value and make good use of them.

Christine, though, must have thought Erik very attached to all his worldly possessions for the way she behaved around him after he informed her of his decision. This, of course, was absurd. Erik was no more attached to his chair than he was the dirt on his shoe. The most important thing in his entire world was her, and she had made a vow to be with him wherever he roamed until the day he died- couches be damned. Even so, she viewed the whole ordeal as an immense sacrifice on his part. And since, due to this misconception, she was lavishing him with even more attention and affection than was her usual, Erik found he could not even_ think_ of relieving her of her imagined burdens.

All the same, with or without her undue sympathy, the furniture, bit by bit, disappeared from their home. With the help of the most esteemed Antoinette Giry (who had at length forgiven him for the chaos involved in winning Christine as his bride), his belongings were being sold off. They started small, with inconsequential things such as end tables, but it was certainly a start. Antoinette proved invaluable in her assistance, and Erik vaguely wondered if he could ever assign her a task which she could not accomplish. Of course, she would be compensated for her efforts, as she would be keeping a good portion of the sales, though he had not told her as much.

Due to their partnership, Erik found that Antoinette was ever more present in his life- and in his home. This allowed Christine an opportunity to spend time in the woman's company, and Erik had mixed thoughts on the matter. On one hand, he did not like the idea of Christine becoming accustomed to Antoinette's companionship, as they would all too soon be leaving, and Christine would suffer from the loss. All the same, it was unfair to deprive her of companionship for the very same reason- aside from letters and the occasional visit, the time they spent together now could prove to be the last they spent together at all. He decided it was best to let it be, as he would likely only receive opposition in response to his scorn- yes, he would simply focus on the furniture.

The time had come, as Erik knew it must, to sell his favored arm chair. He heaved a sigh upon acknowledging that fact. Not because he hated to part with the chair, but because of the process involved. Somehow, he had to move his chair across a body of water, up five stories and out of the opera house. He could certainly do it. That was not the issue. Still, it made him weary just to _think_ of the energy he would have to spend to accomplish such a feat. The alternative, however, was to inconvenience his guest and his wife, and he would never dream of such a thing.

So it came to be that Erik bid Christine and Antoinette a good day, and they wished him luck in sympathetic tones as he departed, chair in tow. Certainly, Erik had accomplished many more difficult things in his life, but he would rather not have to go through this particular ordeal ever again. Erik could honestly admit he never imagined doing anything of _this_ nature in his lifetime. He rowed, pushed, pulled and dragged the chair up to the surface level, being careful not to set off any traps along the way, which proved to be_ far_ easier in theory than in practice. At last, he reached the door that would open to the Rue Scribe. All that remained was to fetch Antoinette, and then a final push to move the chair from his hidden passage into the street. Before he tended to either of those things, though, he collapsed into his chair one last time for a well-earned respite.

When he was no longer fully exhausted, Erik stood with a sigh and began a leisurely journey back to his home. He took time to appraise his own work as he passed traps and snares, some deadly and some not. They had served him well for as long as he had need of them- only once had they been out- maneuvered. He got less satisfaction from this fact than what he expected. After all, he had designed and installed each and every one of them, and it was only an incredible mind that had bested his labyrinth. He was surprised that he did not feel at least a little pride for his accomplishment. After some thought, he came to the conclusion that when compared to his greatest achievement in life, these traps, these instruments of destruction meant nothing.

Indeed, everything seemed to pale in comparison to his marriage to Christine. She was his every dream made real. No,_ improved_ because it was no longer his dream, but his reality that she laid with him at night and carried proof of their union within her womb. He was truly the happiest of men if only because she graced him with her smiles and soft touches and did not shudder at the sight of his face.

Erik had, in fact, grown so accustomed to going about daily life without the mask that when Antoinette's presence required him to don it, he grumbled as though it was of the utmost inconvenience. Christine would laugh at his annoyance, and though he would roll his eyes at her behavior, it did help soothe his irritation, and she knew it. At the core of his being, he was a gentleman, and he could not be so discourteous as to put his monstrosity of a face on display for someone who had done nothing to deserve it. Christine most certainly didn't deserve to look upon it, but she was the one who scowled at him until he removed it at the end of the day when they were alone.

Erik found himself smiling as he untied his boat and pushed it off from the shore, lightly hopping in and setting himself to rowing across the lake. He vaguely noted how much easier the task became without the added weight and the balancing act required of him with an armchair as his passenger. Erik chuckled to himself as he pulled the oars into his boat shortly before it glided to a stop, having met the shore. He took care not to tip his vessel as he forsook it to stand once more on solid ground, securing the boat to ensure it did not float out of his reach, then turned to enter his house. After all his toiling, Christine's warm smile would be the perfect welcome home.

The perfect welcome, however, did not appear to be in the cards.

Indeed, Erik was greeted only by silence upon entering to find that the only ones bearing witness to his return were an entirely deserted sofa and a low burning fire. He frowned to himself, not bothering to push away the disappointment he felt at their (mostly Christine's) absence. He wondered where they had gone off to. He guessed they might have gone above to do some shopping, but upon further thought he realized that they could not have done so without alerting him to their presence. The lake was not an issue -there were ways around the lake without the boat (just not half as convenient) but they had not made use of them, or he would have heard them in the passages as they went up. No, they certainly remained somewhere in the house.

Erik, having shaken away his initial emotions, stood completely still and silenced his thoughts as he became quite suddenly aware of muffled noises coming from the back of his house. Taking care to make no noise of his own, he treaded slowly down the hall, carefully listening to the strange sounds that became ever more distinct as he went along. A growing sense of dread built in his chest as he realized that the noises he heard were surely issuing from a person. As he grew closer, he clearly made out Antoinette's voice, more gentle and soothing than he had _ever_ heard it before. His stomach promptly dropped and his heart leapt into his throat as he realized who must be making the other, disconcerting noises- his precious Christine.

At last reaching the end of the hallway, he opened the door of the Louis- Philippe room, and was rewarded with a much clearer quality of sound than what he had before. He could make out the words Antoinette was offering to Christine, but Erik hardly acknowledged them, for he became acutely aware that the formerly indistinguishable noises his wife uttered were none other than harsh, painful sobs. Erik's eyes fastened on the door of the bathroom- the only place they could possibly be. In the blink of an eye he was across the room, and he nearly tore the door from its hinges in his haste to open it.

Erik would never forget what he saw.

Christine was curled into herself on the floor by the large tub, racked with sobs which only seemed to worsen as she became aware of his presence. As if that wasn't enough to drive Erik mad, the unmistakable smell of blood permeated the room and its stain was clearly visible on the pale blue of her dress. Erik was so completely shocked by what he saw that he could neither speak nor move- he merely stood in the doorway as still and silent as a statue. It was due to this moment of utter helplessness that Antoinette was (in a show of strength he did not think her capable of) able to shove him back from the door frame, slamming the door shut in his face and securing the lock.

_Never_ had Erik felt closer to insanity.

Driven wild by his need to see Christine and somehow help her, Erik began beating upon the door, hurling oaths at Antoinette through ground teeth as he painfully clenched his jaw. Gathering all his strength, he flung himself at the barrier separating him from Christine, ramming his shoulders against the wood, and then attempting to _kick_ the door down when he realized his shoulders were taking abuse for naught. His legs, of course, proved equally ineffective. He had built the house with his own hands,after all, and nothing short of an ax would be the demise of _any_ of the doors. Still, he heaped abuse upon it until he could no longer stand, at which point his knees buckled and he sagged against the heavy wood, calling to Christine in mournful wails, which where only ever returned by her sobs.

Unable to bear her crying and helpless to soothe her, Erik dragged himself out of the room and down the hall, back before the fire. For a while, he could not bring himself to do anything but lay on the floor in what he could only describe as an agony more painful than _any_ torture he had _ever_ endured. As with all pain, though, it eventually faded into numbness, and he was able to get to his feet, whereupon he was greeted by physical soreness from his frenzied assault on the bathroom door.

Time seemed inconsequential- a minute seemed an eternity, and Erik was left to manage for himself. Under these circumstances, it was no surprise that when Antoinette at last appeared before Erik he was in quite a state. He sat, legs crossed, in a corner of the sofa, one arm dangling off the side and the other draped over the back. He was in shirtsleeves, which he had unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows, and he had all but ripped his collar open. His hair was mussed from pulling at it in his worry and running his hands through it out of anxiety. A decanter containing an amber liquid rested in his lap, and a tumbler lie abandoned on the floor, along with his mask. Had it been any other situation, he would have felt shame in appearing before Antoinette in such a manner. As it was though, he merely leveled his gaze on her, taking note of the mixture of pain and reluctance he found in her eyes.

"Well?" he ground out when it seemed she had no intention of speaking.

"Erik," she said very softly as she approached, taking a seat on the edge of a cushion on the far end of the sofa. He waited, every second spent in terror of what she would say, but he waited nonetheless.

"Christine will live," the words escaped her mouth and Erik felt his entire world hover on a string as Antoinette continued. "She will need care and time to fully recover, but she is healthy enough, and her life is not in danger."

Erik heaved a sigh and his head fell back against the cushion of the sofa. Relief washed over him, and he was not certain of what could _possibly_ be causing the slight pangs of apprehension that still stabbed at his chest. For though he was overjoyed to know that his wife was living and would live for years to come, he knew that _something_ that had eluded him, and he was _certain_ he would not like what Antoinette had left to say.

"Erik," Antoinette started once again, and Erik picked his head up to look at her as he detected the catch in her voice as she fought tears. "You've lost your child."

Erik could only blink, as her words did not quite register in his mind. Antoinette seemed convinced enough, as tears began to flow from her eyes, and her shoulders shook with the sobs she would not release. Erik stood and helped her to her feet, then took her shoulders in the palms of his hands, lightly squeezing them.

"Forgive my behavior, Antoinette," he apologized softly. "You should never have to bear witness to such displays from me. Come, let me show you-"

"No, Erik," she said quite firmly. "Go to Christine. She is in _desperate_ need of you. I know the way."

Erik had time to nod briefly before he was off and down the hallway. He paused before the closed door of the Louis- Philippe room, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts so that he could be strong for his beloved. Taking a deep breath, Erik turned the handle and opened the door inch by inch.

A single candle illuminated Christine's face, and his heart swelled to see her alive and whole, if exhausted and drawn. Her blue eyes lacked their usual sparkle; dull with what he could only assume was the numbness after her pain. Unable to be parted from her any longer, Erik entered the room and slowly approached her bedside. There were no blankets over her, though she _had_ changed into a nightgown, more than likely with Antoinette's help. He carefully sat on the edge of the bed, and her eyes drifted to settle on him, though she hardly seemed to recognize him. The vacancy in her gaze was deeply unsettling, and he experienced a moment of horror to think that she might have been driven mad by this ordeal.

"Christine?" he offered his voice to her, and as always it got through to her when it seemed nothing else could.

Christine blinked several times, and seemed confused to see him at first, though she offered him a weak smile and held out her hand, which Erik fervently clasped in both of his. She tentatively moved herself to a seated position, and for a while they said nothing. Christine looked into his eyes, searching for consolation, for comfort from her pain. Unfortunately, he could not offer her such falsehoods, and she found only the truth. Erik knew the exact moment she realized that this event had actually unfolded, and it was not the hellish nightmare she dearly wished it to be, for her eyes filled with a deep sorrow just before they overflowed with tears. He wrapped his arms around her form, so much smaller now than what he had become accustomed to, and rocked her back and forth.

When it became clear to him that she would not be able to walk, he blew out the candle and took her up in his arms, letting her cry as he carried her down the hall and to the bed they shared. He threw back the covers and laid her down before crawling in beside her, not bothering to remove his clothes, or even his shoes. Once more he gathered her up against his chest and shushed her, placing reverent kisses on the crown of her head as he stroked her damp hair back from her face.

"Erik..." his name was an agonized sob as it tore from her throat. "I'm so sorry… our baby… please, _please_ forgive me- our child- oh God, Erik!- Please!- I'm so sorry!"

Erik felt physically ill as she begged his forgiveness for the loss of their child, her voice hitching between words and growing more frantic as she fervently apologized for that which she could not _possibly_ control. Erik's stomach clenched and he fought back the urge to vomit that came from the onslaught of emotions her raw grief inspired in him.

"No, no, no," Erik shook his head, leaning back away from Christine to properly look her in the face. She was hysterical, and her eyes were wild, her breath coming in short gasps as she continued to whimper pleas for absolution. "Christine, listen to me. I love you. This is _not_ your fault."

Christine's breathing slowed somewhat and Erik looked into her bloodshot eyes, their redness making her blue irises vibrant and beautiful even in the face of her despair. Through his gaze, Erik conveyed all the love he held for her, and without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head to softly kiss his wife, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. Christine's entire body shook as she wept, but she brought her hands to cup his face as she took comfort from him, and he gladly gave it to her. They broke their kiss, but moved no more than a breath from one another. Indeed, when Erik began to sing her a favored lullaby, his lips brushed hers with each word they formed.

Slowly but surely, Christine's sobs subsided. Securely enveloped in his arms, she fell into an exhausted slumber, unconsciousness granting her a reprieve from her harsh new reality. It was only when he was certain that she was asleep that Erik allowed himself to think on their lost child. Either the little lady that would have grown to be as fair as her mother, or the young lad who would have grown to be far superior to his father. This nameless child that he had come to love _in spite_ of all his fear and trepidation was very suddenly and entirely gone. Yes, only when he was certain that he would not wake his beloved, Erik buried his face in Christine's hair and wept bitterly for their immense loss.


End file.
